


Intra

by Kate Andrews (k8andrewz)



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28423434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k8andrewz/pseuds/Kate%20Andrews
Summary: Her body is more complicated when she's near him.(Originally posted 8/17/05)
Relationships: Lee "Apollo" Adama/Kara "Starbuck" Thrace
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	Intra

**Author's Note:**

> (original author's note as follows)
> 
> Welcome to the story that ate my brain. :) An earlier version of this was posted to my friends list a few months ago, but it never clicked for me, and I felt like there was a better story in there. Then, without warning, it decided that it wanted to be written now, thankyouverymuch and promptly took over my life for the last ten days or so.
> 
> Big thanks go out to a number of beta readers who helped make me make this better, with a special thanks to geekturnedvamp, who's not afraid to say, "No Kate, really, that doesn't say what you think it says, and they would never do that anyway," and to musicforcylons and Wendy for their patience with my grammar issues and comma retardation. boofadil, jengrrl, ysrith, widget and waldo also deserve thanks for their support and crit, and if I'm forgetting anyone else, I apologize.
> 
> Now, I'm going to go outside, get a little sun, and NOT think about Lee, Kara, BSG or writing for a whole hour. :) I hope you enjoyed and look forward to hearing what you think.

intra-  
(Latin, prefix)

1\. within  
2\. during  
3\. into

* * *

#103

"You have twenty minutes, people. Use them well."

As the other pilots leave, Lee Adama stays behind the lectern. Starbuck stays in her seat and stares at him.

Two frakking years since she's seen him last. Even back then she didn't know what to do with him. Here and now? Now that she has a second to breathe and to think, she realizes that his return to her life brings with it a particular type of trouble.

When he looks up at her from his notes, he nods. She nods back. She zones out on the efficient movement of his fingers through the checklists. Ruffling, sorting, marking sheet after sheet with his green pen. She watches until her eyes close, then her head is snapping forward.

Lee's hand is on her shoulder. He is behind her, and his thumb touches the back of her neck.

This wakes her up completely.

"Starbuck?"

"Yeah. Yes."

"Five minutes."

* * *

#122

She fights hard for this landing, shrieking across the deck in a plume of sparks before a bone-rattling jolt of a stop. In the process, something in her back gets wrenched and she spends the next cycle aboard Galactica standing flat against a wall in the briefing room, just watching him do his thing.

After he wraps, she tries to slide to the floor. When he offers his hand she waves it away and, after a bit of maneuvering, manages to sit by herself.

"I'm fine," she says.

"Do you need anything, Kara?"

"I'm fine." She stares straight ahead tries to find some position that doesn't drive a knife up her spine.

He leaves. A few minutes later (she's not sure how many because by this point she's snatching whatever shards of sleep she can) he takes her hand and presses some tiny blue pills into it. She lets them clatter to the floor. She can't bend her neck enough to look up at him. "I told you I’m not taking any frakking--."

Lee squats in front of her. "They are not stims. Now stop being a brat and open up." He has picked up the pills and holds them in front of her lips.

She pouts, or tries to, but her lips keep stretching into a smile, the kind she can feel all the way up to her ears. Then she opens her mouth wide and stretches her tongue out.

He stares at it just long enough for her to notice.

And damn if the ends of his ears don't flush red. Please tell her he still blushes that easily. It will make her life so much more entertaining.

"Just take them." He places the pills on her tongue. For a split second, she tastes the salt of his fingers. Then he's on his feet and echoing footsteps down the corridor.

After swallowing the bitter things dry, she tongues the inside of her mouth. She explores the flesh behind her bottom teeth, probing and sucking. She tries to lick the taste of his fingers off, but she's pretty sure it's just in her head. The five-minute bell rings and soon, it will have been another thirty-three minutes.

She struggles to her feet.

* * *

#147

Lee's briefing them, yet again. Cylons are still coming and they're still here, that's the gist. She's not dead yet and neither is he. Somehow, by the grace of some gods, Lee Adama of all frakking men is alive with her, here, at the end of the world. He is alive and breathing and so close she could touch him if she wanted, but she doesn't.

Want him, that is. She doesn't want him. He's repeating something about fuel reserves when she realizes there's probably no gum left. She doesn't want to contemplate whether this applies only to the Galactica or to the universe at large. This is not a problem for the Cylons, she realizes, because toasters don't chew gum. She gets the mental image of an enormous pair of pink bubbles swelling up from toaster slots. She starts giggling out loud.

He asks her to share, but by then she's biting her knuckles, half-heartedly trying to stifle the noise. It tumbles out of her anyway, and she's shaking. She tries to say something, but the cackles bend her over. Her stomach, and the sides of her face ache from it and she wants to stop.

He narrows his eyes at her, and raises his hand in all seriousness, but that makes her laugh so hard she snorts. Even he can't help smirking at that, and it's all down hill from there.

Every pilot in the room, including the CAG, is hysterical with laughter when Commander Adama visits. Lee can barely get out the word, "Attention."

"I don't want to know," Adama says, shaking his head and turning around. She catches his smile out of the corner of her eye as he leaves.

Then she's laughing so hard she thinks she might die.

* * *

#167

She puffs on a cigar during Lee's briefing. Afterwards, he says nothing, takes it from her without warning and carefully grinds it out on her flight plan. She offers her last mouthful of smoke into his face as a thank you.

* * *

#168

She relights her stogie before his briefing and waits, legs stretched out. One boot rests on the back of the seats in front of her; the other is planted firmly on the ground. He enters and without words plucks the smoldering cigar from her lips. He proceeds to smoke it through the entire length of his rundown. He never once looks at her.

After everyone has left, he takes the seat next to hers and puts up his feet as well. When he hands it back, she sees that the end is darker brown and a little wet from his mouth. She tongues the tip as she puffs, then hands it back. While he's smoking she tastes her lips. They pass it back and forth, saying nothing, sitting still together until the five-minute bell.

* * *

#175

The last Viper scrapes back to Galactica with a sickening crunch. For a few seconds she's sure he's not going to make it, but just in time he manages to stick the landing. His Viper spins to a stop, blackened down both sides. She bounds up the steps to Lee's canopy two at a time, then helps the mechanic pop his helmet. His gloves are still wrapped around the yoke, and he's breathing fast.

She recognizes the dazed look in his eyes, knows the wind's been knocked out of him. She knows how he feels, so she's glad he doesn't resist as she pries his hands loose. She strips off his gloves and his hands are sweaty in hers.

"C'mon, tough guy." She helps him up and, with legs shaking, he steps out of the cockpit. Anyone, even her, gets slammed into the deck that hard after jamming at thruster pedals nonstop for twenty minutes and they take a few moments to find their feet. Apollo is no different.

"Having fun yet?" She squeezes his hands.

He chuckles, but that starts a coughing fit. The repair bay bustles around them, a few meters below, as he proceeds to hack. His fingers slip from hers and with hands braced on his knees he stares through the metal grating beneath their feet. Finally he breathes deeply and says, "I'm good."

The mechanic gives her an obnoxiously knowing smile, hands her a chilled water bottle then leaves. Kara rolls the cold plastic over her neck and throat, then looks down at the back of his neck, beaded with sweat. She presses the bottle to his skin, and he looks up at her, wide-eyed and startled.

Those frakking eyes. She hates the way they make her feel. She hates the way she likes it, but she's not going to stand here and get all girly about it, so she shoves the bottle into his hand.

He pops off the cap and squeezes, splashing himself in the face and hair. He rubs it in, then shakes his head back and forth, vigorously sprinkling her face. She wipes, and reaches for the bottle, but he snatches it out of her reach, stumbling a little.

"Stop wasting it." She grabs the front of his suit and steadies him. "I'm thirsty."

He responds by squirting her in the face and it does feel surprisingly good.

"Do it again." This time she opens her mouth wide, and he gives her a few shots of blessedly cold water straight down her throat. She doesn't swallow fast enough, and it runs down her chin, her neck, soaking the front of her already sweat-dampened shirt. He sucks down the remainder of the water Adam's apple bobbing.

With absolutely no warning (liar) she is sucker punched by memories.

It is a brilliant blue day, years ago. She is enjoying a picnic with Zak and Lee. One bottle of ambrosia lies on its side in the grass, a few meters away, empty. The other is half full, half in her and Lee's glasses. Zak's hand rests heavily, casually possessive, on her ass as he snores.

All three of them are stretched out on the grass beneath a great old tree, near the edge of the shade. The sun moves slowly as she and Lee drink and listen to each other talk about nothing. She's up on her elbows, belly on the grass, ripping and sprinkling handfuls of green blades onto his bare chest. As the afternoon stretches, the shade moves and more of Apollo's skin is revealed to the sun.

He is on his back, legs and belly in the yellow afternoon light, staring into the wide blue sky. He keeps suggesting the most ridiculous shapes in the clouds with a perfectly straight face and she can't stop giggling. His body is close, elbow touching hers. When he points, his arm brushes her shoulder. From time to time she looks at his chest, his stomach, his arms. From time to time he catches her. They smile and he looks away.

Lee's eyes seem impossible at that moment, as he glances from her face up to the sky--from the endless blue back to her. She listens hard because she is afraid that he can see what she is thinking as she looks down at him. He's pointing at the clouds but staring at her when he sees it on her face.

He sees what she's thinking about. She knows it and he knows it and when he brings his arm down slowly, she thinks he's going to touch her, but he's careful.

They were always so careful.

Without warning, his body sways into hers. Just as suddenly, she's back in the now. She is on her feet next to his Viper, smelling oil and acrid smoke and watching him try to stand on his own.

It wouldn't do for the CAG to fall off a ladder and crack his head on the deck so she wraps her arm around his waist and helps him down the steps.

"C'mon, Captain."

They get to the deck and he's still unsteady, so she doesn't immediately let go. His body is heavy and warm and the bastard turns his impossible eyes on her.

She is afraid he can see what she's thinking right now.

Then a familiar sinking whirl makes her mouth dry, and dimly, she hears the FTL alarm bleating away. He's still looking at her and frak, she's pinned. The drive's snapping in.

His eyes are a blue deep mile, and eye contact with him is the last thing she wants for that eternal twisted second last thing she needs is his hip against hers because what she really wants right now is to--

Another skull-rattling snap, then they are both solid on their feet. He holds her hands gently as the hum of hangar noise resumes. Somewhere along the line, he must have started stroking her palm with his thumb.

Then he's dropping her hands with some force and stepping back. Hand braced on the belly of his Viper, he stands up straight. "I'm good. Thank you Lieutenant Thrace."

She nods and takes her leave.

He'll be fine.

* * *

#179

Kara sits.

Seven minutes of rack time, thank the Gods. Her flight suit is crumpled at her ankles because she wants cool sheets against her skin. She peels the sweat crisped bra from her ribs, strips it off, and is finally topless. She runs her palms over her itchy skin, from her waist to her shoulders. In places, she is sticky and chafed but that doesn't matter because seven minutes in horizontal heaven are all hers.

She flops back on her bunk, letting out an audible, "Oof."

Very briefly, she considers closing the curtain, but that would involve actually sitting back up, prying off her greasy boots, and pulling her legs up. And she ain't doing any of that right now.

She lifts her head and looks down her body, between her breasts at the bustle of shift change. Some guy hops over the table rather than going around. It has been that kind of day.

Should she use the term day? Maybe days don't exist anymore and the last one just goes on and on forever. She stretches her arms over her head and the air licks her skin. She no longer feels sweaty and greasy and wrapped in rubber. The air is everywhere and her nipples are tightening. She actually sees them harden and crinkle.

She feels herself passing out, like the gravity is turning up and up, pulling her limbs and her eyelids down, but she manages to drag one of her shirts over her chest. No more free show boys.

No free show, Lee. So sorry.

Briefly, she considers tugging the shirt back off, just for the opportunity to make her friend blush again.

She can't believe it's been two years since she's seen him; more than that since she spent any real time with him. Even then, there was always Zak. Zak and his big brother. The Adama boys, a package deal.

Zak had asked her once whether she'd ever frakked Lee. She was glad that at the time she had been able to honestly answer no.

Then Zak died, and the years just got eaten up by life and work. There was the grieving and the guilt, neither of which were strangers to her yet, but she had made it to surviving, and even enjoying her life a little. She had friends.

Had.

Maybe when this was all over they would have time for a head count. What she knew was that everyone around her kept dying and she kept trying not to. She kept trying not to let them all die.

Then Lee was dead, and during these last couple hundred rounds of purgatory Kara has found her mind coming back to that moment, that squeeze and rip in her chest when Tyrol gave her the news. And then the gut-punch of relief when he was alive. Laying eyes on his breathing, walking body had felt a little like freefall.

Maybe she is asleep. Maybe this is all a bad dream. Feels like a dream. She blinks, and now someone's standing next to the bunk in his dark grey boxer briefs, too close for her to see his face. She gets a mighty good look at his ass though. Looks like Lee's ass. She stares out at it, lids sinking. See, now that is just sad. She can't even stay awake for a decent ogle.

Lee bends to pull on a fresh pair of pants and she watches his body, the bunch and stretch of muscles beneath his skin. He is bulkier than the last time she saw him shirtless.

She doesn't know if it is Zak's death or the years that have changed him. He is changed, but he is still Lee.

Not her Lee. Just Lee.

Her half-awake mind fills, suddenly, with the joy of his being here. She is so very glad he is here, alive with her, right now. She hopes she'll get the chance to hear about his last few years. Maybe someday, after sleeping for about a hundred hours they could roll out of their bunks and get coffee together. They could actually talk for once. Wouldn't that be funny?

No, probably a bad idea.

Maybe someday she would roll over in her bunk and slide her leg over his, nuzzle his neck and press her lips to his--.

Enough of that. Definitely a bad idea.

She struggles to open her eyes. Lee is shirtless, sitting on the table facing her. He's watching her, and when she meets his gaze he looks away. Right now, with the world ending over and over again she is so jealous of the little, stupid pedestrian shit they could and should be doing. She's jealous of all the things she's going to miss if they don't survive this.

Yeah, he's definitely older and a little less with the outward cocky. Still Mr. Spit-and-Polish, though. He bitches about protocol almost as much as she does, but the tops of his boots are mirrors, as always.

Her feet in her beat-up boots are still resting on the floor. Lee's leaving with a razor, so she asks him to bring her a wet washcloth.

She opens her eyes, and he's back. He stands over her, bare-faced, smooth and smelling like menthol.

She opens her eyes again, and he's sitting on the edge of her bunk. There's a bit of shaving cream beneath his earlobe. She finds that she has rolled to face him, is half curled around him, face pressed to his hip.

He's still not wearing a shirt, and when she breathes in his scent, it feels like a shot of ambrosia, spreading warmth down her body.

She realizes one of her boots is off, and he's working loose the laces on the other. He is peeling off her socks and it tickles so she smacks his leg, nearly missing. She lets her fingers rest on his solid thigh. He pats her hand.

Then he's spreading a sweatshirt over her bare skin, and her eyelids are drifting, crashing, glued. Warm washcloth strokes around her neck, across her forehead, her mouth. He slips it under her palm.

Then Boomer is shaking her shoulder. "Two minutes."

* * *

#184

Her bra is drip drying on a lower rung of the ladder on her bunk, so she is still braless beneath her tank tops. Kara stands in front of the sinks, hand up her shirt, wiping the sweat from beneath and between her breasts with her washcloth. She throws a double handful of cold water on her face. She sticks her head under the faucet, then splashes under her arms. Looks in the mirror and slaps her cheeks. Slaps them again, harder.

"Does that work?" Lee is leaning against the wall by the showers, wet, a blue towel wrapped low on his hips. It must have slipped down, because to deliberately wrap it that low is just obnoxious. If she wrapped it that low on herself, it would put an end to any "Are you a natural blonde" jokes.

She's about to conclude that he is doing it on purpose when he sees what she's staring at, sets down his stack of clothes, then turns away a little, and tucks his towel more securely at navel level.

She grins at him. "What, Captain Apollo, sir?"

"Does that work?"

"Kind of. I don't think I'm doing it hard enough."

He walks over to her. "How hard do you need it?"

She thinks a moment, then slaps him across the face. The smack is loud enough to stop conversations and make most people in the room turn and look at them. Once they see who's involved they return to what they were doing. Her palm stings.

"Wow. Cool." He slaps her back just as hard as she needs. "Do the other side," he says.

She steps closer to him and obliges. He does the same, and now they're standing toe to toe. She feels the burning in her cheeks and watches his face flush. They're grinning maniacally at one another. Her heart is vibrating against her ribcage.

Apparently, his neck blushes too, and the red is starting to creep down his chest, towards his nipples. She can't help but wonder what else on him reddens. She bites her bottom lip hard to make sure she doesn't accidentally say the dirty thoughts about to trample through her foggy brain.

She's been catching herself doing that, just forgetting to turn her mouth off when she thinks. Great. Now he's staring at her mouth.

"Freaks," she hears Boomer say.

Kara pats her cheek and steps back. "Do me again."

* * *

#185

They seem to have started a fad.

Cally stands giggling at the entrance to the hangar, and gives each of the pilots a smack in the face as they pass her for their planes.

Tyrol pronounces them all insane.

* * *

#186

One of the luxury cruise ships has sent over a load of high octane, flavored coffee. She cracks her canopy and smells it brewing. The scent forces a groan from her throat. As she waits for the pot to fill, she bounces on the balls of her feet.

Apollo's got some rather spectacular helmet head this time around and she tells him so. He compliments her use of shortening as hair product. When the first rich sweet wave hits her tongue, she lets out an obscene moan.

"That good, huh?"

She just nods, closes her eyes and lets out an even more elaborate noise after she swallows.

"You sound like you're coming."

Eyes still shut she purrs, "That's not what I sound like when I come."

When she finishes her first few gulps and opens her eyes, he's stirring white swirls of what appears to be, oh Gods, real cream into his coffee. Other incoming pilots descend upon the cart then scatter. She's still luxuriating in her own sweet, nutty, caffeinated world when she hears him say, "I know."

"What do you know, Lee, huh?" She ruffles his still damp hair. She wonders if it's still wet from the shower or if fresh sweat is responsible for the chaos. She probably shouldn't smell her fingers to find out.

Once again, she's hit in the chest with the shaking tiredness. She fights not to sway. The lights above her are buzzing, she would swear to it. Did someone turn the ship's gravity up to 2g or something?

He is saying something to her. "Never mind."

"Come on."

"I didn't say anything."

"Say it, smart ass."

"I said that's not what you sound like when you come."

"Oh really?"

He nods at her and takes a sip of his coffee. "Frakking hot. Ouch." He winces and sucks in breath over his tongue with a sharp hiss.

"How's that?"

"The beach house."

She takes a gulp of the coffee and it burns her throat. Her face burns, like she's standing in the midday sun. "The beach house?"

Lee adds another packet of sugar and stirs. He's not buying it.

"I totally forgot about that," she says, picking up the empty creamers and tossing them one by one into a garbage can several feet away. She's still got it.

He rolls his eyes.

"Did I ever apologize?" she asks.

"Nothing to apologize for."

"I mean about everything. And What's-Her-Face."

"She was delusional."

"I could have told you that."

"That would have been nice."

"I was busy."

"Yes you were," he says.

At this moment, Kara shouldn't really do anything more complicated than standing up and drinking coffee. She isn't sure what sort of conversation this is, but she's certain she doesn't have the mental clarity to keep up. She's so tripped out on sleep deprivation and adrenaline that her mind keeps skipping and sliding down nonsensical paths. She's busy enough fighting off the yawning fits that spread like epidemics across the bay and down the corridors.

She doesn't have time to have these waking dreams where she blinks and a minute has gone by and people are still talking at her. As a matter of fact, Apollo is still talking to her, something about her Viper, but she's just nodding and staring at his moving lips.

She can't stop wondering whether they are going to do it, right here and now.

That doesn't sound right.

She can't stop wondering whether they are going to pick now of all times to talk about the last night they spent at the shore that summer years ago. That's it.

After a week of jogs along the surf with Lee every morning and frakking Zak senseless every afternoon and night, it had been time to go.

Miss What's-Her-Face and her rubbed each other wrong from the start. Lee was just her buddy, after all, her boyfriend's brother. In a lot of ways he felt like hers. Kara wasn't about to stop tackling him in the waves or letting him hurl her body into the ocean just because it made his latest piece of ass pout.

Zak was more of an easy going, beer/book/sunshine type at the beach. He just laughed at their antics and licked the salt water off Kara's cold belly when she dropped to the blanket next to him.

"Thanks for wearing her out for me, Lee," said Zak.

"Stop dripping on me," said Miss Face.

Kara had fought with Zak twice that week, great screaming throw downs about nothing at all. The second one had been bad enough that it took Lee three hours to track her down in the arcades.

He took another two to feed her enough coffee and funnel cake to bring her back to sober. They'd joked about running off together. Well, he'd been joking, she figured. Levelheaded as always, Lee had convinced her to go back to Zak and apologize for being such an unreasonable bitch.

When she'd gotten back to the beach house, she and Zak had gone at it like animals. Half way into their first frak, she'd overheard a fight between Lee and the girl.

The girl's "That bitch" and Lee's squeaky "Are you high?" were the only words she'd been able to make out, but she had enjoyed hearing his thundering shouts. From the tone alone she could picture him, spitting mad. She pictured Lee's angry eyes. She imagined the heat of his anger, imagined it directed at her.

She imagined he was shouting at her. Zak had been on top of her, single-mindedly pounding her into the bed, and it was only when she heard the screen door slam and the shouting cease that she was able to bring her full attention back to Lee's brother.

She didn't think he noticed, but she dragged her nails down his back and let herself be louder than usual to be safe.

This went on for a good hour.

When she walked through the living room, on her way to the bathroom, she noticed that Lee was sitting on the sofa, nursing a beer and watching a pyramid game with the sound turned down.

"Where'd she go?"

He shrugged.

"You're right. He forgave me," she said, grabbing two beers and cracking the lids off.

Lee nodded, eyes glued to the television set.

She handed him a fresh beer. "Thanks for stopping me from leaving."

"It's my job. He's my brother."

When she returned to the bedroom, Zak was snoring. She had too much energy, now, so she tossed on a bikini and shorts, then grabbed the keys.

"Come on," she said, taking Lee's hand and tugging him off the couch. "Get on your swimsuit."

The whole drive over, her insides were sore and warm. He scolded her for driving barefoot, and wouldn't let her pick the radio station. Everything from her thighs to her ribs tingled as they walked across the wide stretch of dimpled sand. He sprinted for the surf and dove in head first. She was underwater and sweeping herself forward before he surfaced. After a coming up for a deep breath, she thrashed hard and fast away from shore.

Once past the breakers, she treaded water and marveled at how still and shiny and cliché-inspiringly huge the ocean was. This late at night, both moons hovered just over the horizon. The salt water burned her eyes, made them water, but as she paddled next to him in the vastness, she knew he wouldn't notice.

After they got the requisite "let's grab Kara's foot and tug her under water and scare the crap out of her then wrestle and try to dunk each other for a few minutes" bullshit out of the way, they swam themselves tired, then they floated on their backs and talked about nothing, making up constellations and trading stories about Zak.

It was one of those moments where she truly understood what a bad person she was.

By the time they got back the girl was on the couch, her bags packed.

She said she refused to be part of their sick little game and insisted Lee drive her to the transport station immediately. She also called Kara selfish cunt, which just made Kara smile. That made Miss Face lunge for her, but Lee caught her before Kara could do something she wouldn't regret.

On the trip home, she, Lee and Zak all dismissed Miss Face as a crazy, jealous bitch. As for the accusations she had hurled? Those didn't even warrant mention and the topic turned to Lee's piss-poor luck with women lately.

"We're not all lucky enough to have someone like Kara drop in our laps," Lee said with a bright voice and a wide grin.

"Don't worry," Zak had said from the back seat, already stretched out and ready to sleep through the four hour drive. "I'm sure I'll get tired of her soon, and you can take your turn." He managed to deflect the crumpled up potato chip bag she tossed back at him.

"Asshole," she said, laughing.

"I love you baby."

"I love you too, Zak." She half-climbed over the seat, and they shared a quick, sloppy kiss with her hip smashed against Lee's shoulder. He didn't make any comments like, "I'm trying to drive here," or "Get a room," which was sad because that was at least half the reason she'd crawled back there.

Settling back in, she looked over at Lee. His bemused expression made her smile. She decided not to pay attention to his hands on the steering wheel, or the way his knuckles were turning white. Instead, she changed the radio station and started an argument over his music tastes that lasted well into the next province.

As Starbuck stands next to Apollo on the Galactica and takes another sip of coffee, she can see all those memories on his face. She doesn't have to say any of it.

"I miss him too," Lee says, very quietly.

He isn't trying to break her heart. She knows that.

They fall silent and drink their coffee, avoiding each other's eyes.

Ringer steps between them and breaks the mood with a grin and a joke. He grabs three cups, black, then hands one to Cally and heads over to talk with Sharon's new guy, Crashdown

Though Kara can't hear them, she zones out and watches them talk, stand a little too close, and smile at each other for what could have been a minute or two. Ringer aims his lethal green eyes at the man and then, apparently, there are things that the two need to whisper about.

Kara looks back and finds Lee still standing there. He's got an odd expression on his face.

* * *

#191

She's on the toilet yet again, letting the coffee vacate her bladder. She almost pissed herself last time out and is having trouble believing she has this much liquid in her entire body.

She recognizes Apollo's footsteps.

After she hears a comically long stretch of urination that goes on and on, and on some more in the stall next to her, he lets out a satisfied sigh that she can't help but laugh at. The sound is loud and harsh, echoing in the empty washroom.

She's still giggling when she washes her hands next to him. He's losing the smile battle with both dimples.

"So, is that what *you* sound like when you come?"

He tosses the wadded paper towel across the room and just misses a wastebasket. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

In the corridor they stop at a water fountain and drink deeply, taking turns. She swallows too quickly; the ice-cold water makes her throat ache.

* * *

#202

Dry heaves have had her out of commission for two full cycles now.

"A body's not built to run this hard, this long", Doc Cottle said as he jabbed her with an anti-emetic. Frakking injection site is still sore. The serum won't kick in for another few minutes, so she's on her knees in the head.

She hugs the toilet bowl and retches, tasting bile and hazelnut, coughing up sour mouthfuls of saliva and spitting them into the water. Her throat burns.

A cool wet paper towel is pressed to the back of her neck, then warm hands that smell like fuel are tucking her hair behind her ears. Apollo is kneeling behind her, rubbing between her shoulders.

She leans her back against his solid body. Even through both their flight suits she feels him breathing. She's not sure if that's his heart pounding or her own that she feels.

She lets her head roll back to his shoulder. Her stomach hitches and the stall spins, so she opens her eyes again and stares up at his jawline.

"Hey," she croaks.

"Hey." He pushes back her hair, and the greasy strands stay put.

"How sexy am I?"

"You look like shit."

"You still want me."

"You stink too."

She rests her palms on his knees, and they fit perfectly, so she just leans on him and closes her eyes. His hands come up to her shoulders, and she presses all her weight against his body. She allows him to hold her upright.

His scent calms her and the rush and tingle of the shot starts to unspin her stomach. After a few successful breaths, she leans forward to flush the toilet. She doesn't get up, though. She stays still and makes sure her stomach has landed and lets him stroke her hair as she presses against him. He stays on the floor with her until the five-minute bell, and for that she is grateful.

* * *

#204

She's sitting on the toilet for peace and quiet more than anything else when she hears some man's voice. "Are they frakking?"

Ringer replies, "I think he's still on the hangar deck."

Kara buries her face in her hands and stifles a groan. She's not sure how she knows they're talking about her, but she does.

"Not now," the new guy, Crashdown, says. "I mean--."

"Who cares?" She hears the hatch lock click shut.

"I think they're doing it."

"Well, I think you should come here and suck my dick," Ringer says.

There is a painfully long silence, after which she hears Crashdown say, "Thought you'd never ask."

A stall door slams shut, then all she hears is their breathing, wet noises, and some grunts after a minute or two. She wants to get the hell out of there, but she's not going to interrupt them. She's not going to begrudge them this.

Unfortunately, they whisper and kiss for a long time once they finish. She waits until they leave, then gives herself one vicious squeeze between her legs, through her suit.

Of course the whole time she had to listen to it she hadn't been picturing them. She was picturing . . .

No frakking time. No good can come of it anyway, and she's perfectly happy to box it all up in the back of her mind. Always has been.

* * *

#205

In Lee's briefing, Crashdown and Ringer have a freshly-frakked glow that makes her want to deck the both of them. Some couple, if not them, has apparently been caught, and Lee's theme this go-round is the need for propriety.

Although Apollo possesses many fine and admirable talents, public speaking is not one of them. He is half-way into reading the actual non-fraternization code. Out loud. From the book.

Most of them have their flight suits unzipped and hanging at their waists. Oh, but not Lee. Not Captain Tight Ass.

"Sounds like you're the one who needs to get laid," she says under her breath, and a little ripple of laughter passes over the rows.

She looks over her shoulder at Sharon and expects an answering laugh. It's there for a second, then her friend gets a nervous look on her face.

"What?" Kara whispers.

Sharon bites her lip and nods towards the front of the room.

"What is it? What?" Kara's brain catches up. "He's right behind me, isn't he?"

Her boot gets slapped, hard, off the seat back in front of her.

"Sit up straight, Lieutenant."

"Yes sir."

"Now repeat that."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Well then you probably heard me." Kara hears a gasp from the back rows and turns to identify the culprit. "Oh, please."

"Lieutenant Thrace, attention," he barks.

Jumping to her feet, she salutes him in a crisp, official movement, then stares directly over his shoulder and says, "Sir, I said it sounds like you're the one who needs to get laid, sir." She snaps her hand back down to her side and stands at attention.

He doesn't miss a beat, just gives her a cold, hard stare. "Is that what I need, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir."

"And this is supposed to help me how?" Lee walks down her row and stands toe-to-toe with her.

"It took them, what, ninety seconds?" She hears a choked cough. When she glances over her shoulder, Crashdown appears to be counting the ceiling tiles. "Sorry, whoever it was I just overheard. Check the stalls first, next time." She turns back to Lee and tries to ignore how close he's standing. "Give them a break is all I'm saying."

"Sounds like you have it all figured out, Starbuck."

"You just spent ten minutes quoting regs at us. That's a hell of a lot more wasted time then a couple of minutes screwing against a wall."

"Well then, what are you doing here?"

"Excuse me?"

"If frakking is such a great idea, why aren't you getting laid right now?"

"Is that--" She pauses to bite her lip hard. She is not going to get the giggles right now. "Is that an offer, sir?"

"The reason you're not getting laid right now," he says, getting close enough she can feel his breath, "is that we have more important things to do, Lieutenant, like kill Cylons. And stay alive. Now sit down, shut your mouth, and do your job. Are we clear?"

"Yes sir," she says. If she's not mistaken, the entire squad is holding its breath.

After a few moments, Lee exhales and turns to the rest of them. "I'm speaking to all of you. Keep your pants on and concern yourselves with getting through this. If we survive, when we survive, feel free to frak your brains out. Dismissed."

He takes his clipboard and leaves. As the pilots disperse, Kara hears Ringer say, "That boy needs a blow job, at the very least."

Someone she doesn't know says, "I'm holding him to that."

* * *

#206

She is unbearably tired. She is also unbearably wired and horny and between the last two, and some aggressive, retina-detaching maneuvers next time out she is able to bear it all.

She is one of the Gods. She is invincible. She is death, the huntress, Athena and Artemis. She is sister to Apollo. The myths are filled with incest though, aren't they?

Each raider she slays scratches an itch, but the problem is her skin is crawling with him. On one sharp turn she nearly blacks out, and to celebrate her return to the conscious she lets out a long, gut-born shriek.

Every part of her thrums and pounds, and after a perfect landing she feels like floating straight out of her seat. He's standing there, arms crossed, so she jumps and lands like a frakking cat in front of him.

"How sexy am I?"

"You are out of control, Kara." There are two, no, three veins in his forehead she can count. "Ready room, now."

She steps forward, gets in that pretty face of his and has to clench her fists to stop herself from messing it up. Smiling, she whispers, "Make me."

His arm twitches like he's stopped himself from knocking her on her ass. Please, let him knock her to the floor, hard. She starts thinking of ways to force him hit her because that's exactly what she needs right now.

He scowls, grabs the metal collar of her flight suit, and yanks her towards him quick enough to make her stumble.

She lets her helmet clatter to the deck and plants both hands on his chest. In her mind he is naked, and she has to blink. Then he's back, furious, lips tight, and she's shoving him away with all of her strength. They are in perfect balance for a few moments, then he's pulling her closer, inexorably.

His nose is about two inches away from hers now. She has stopped shoving. He has stopped pulling.

She is dimly aware that they have an audience. This is getting familiar.

"Let's go, Lieutenant."

She can smell his coffee breath. She can see the mosaic detail of his iris, and there is a long, weird moment when she swears she can see his pupils dilate. And, because the Gods have the most adorable sense of humor, the Galactica's FTL chooses that moment to start its zoom in.

A second before the jump hits, she always feels an animal part of herself thrash against its cage in terror. A person gets used to that feeling, controls it, or gets out of the fleet pretty fast. She controls it, of course, but the world collapses; she wants to collapse with it, into him. She feels like she is. She feels his heart thudding in his chest, and in his eyes she sees the same primitive fear flash, then get bolted down.

He grits his teeth and closes his eyes. She thanks the Gods and closes hers as well.

It's on them then and the world is blown into an infinitely expanding balloon and then she's popped back onto the hangar deck, nose to nose with Lee. He's squinting and blinking rapidly at her, as if they are under a bright light. She recognizes the urge to kiss him, acknowledges it, and waits for it to pass.

He releases her and bent at the waist he rubs his palms over his eyes. Most of the people who had been watching them are now staggering back to whatever their damn jobs were. When he finishes, he takes a deep breath.

"Never mind. Do what you want, Kara." Waving away a question from Cally, he turns on his heel and strides quickly for the exit. She and Tyrol turn and stare at Kara.

"What?" she barks at them, louder than intended.

Once in the corridor, she refuses to break into a run, so it takes her the better part of a minute to catch up with him. She almost misses the fact that he takes the back stairs to the lower decks. Once inside she bounds down the flights, two and three steps at a time. She feels like she might break her neck. She's leaping, both feet hitting the landings with a metallic smack that echoes up and down the bowels of the ship.

Out of breath, she catches up with him four flights down and grabs the railing to stop her body from barreling into his. She fails and shoulders him, knocking him back against the waist high rail.

"What the frak is wrong with you?" he shouts, grabbing her arms and giving her a good shake.

Panting, she says, "Nothing's wrong sir, I'm fine. What did you want to speak with me about?"

"Are you trying to get yourself killed out there?"

"No sir."

"Because that's what it looks like. It looks to me like you are trying to get yourself killed and I can't--" He gives her another shake, then releases her and wipes his palms on his flight suit. "We need you alive."

"I'm killing Cylons, sir."

"We're all killing Cylons. You don't have to take so many risks."

"What else is there, sir?"

He starts to reach for her, then pulls his hand back before it touches her face. "I'm going to lie down for a few minutes. I'll talk to you later."

* * *

He's on his back on his bed, snoring very lightly. He snores just like Zak.

She sits on the edge. She has been watching him sleep for the last three minutes, and her hand has cupped his bare shoulder for the last two. As she watches, his breathing changes, and he stirs.

He brings his hand up to cover hers, squeezing it. When he pulls her hand to his mouth and kisses it, she almost says something.

He opens his eyes. "When?"

"You have five minutes," she says quietly.

The lights are dim and red in the barracks. She hears hushed bubbles of conversation around them. Whispers. Lee can't keep his eyelids open, and she slides her hand from beneath his. She shields his eyes for a few moments, then slides her palm back up over his forehead.

"Maybe this time." His voice is sleep-slurred.

"I'll be more careful, I promise," she whispers.

He doesn't say anything, but turns his face to her and breathes against her palm.

* * *

#210

Ringer doesn't make it back.

He wasn't the first or the only one to get blown away this run. When she crawls out of her cockpit she sees Crashdown on the far side of the bay, sitting against the wall. He's pressing his face to his knees and hugging them tightly to his chest. His shoulders are shaking. Boomer squats next to him and strokes his freshly-shaven head.

#211

She almost doesn't make it back.

Something catches fire, and she has to eject. When she opens her eyes the world is spinning end over end. Silent starfield black as far below her feet and above her head as she can fathom, and Galactica drops into view, then below her feet, then into view again. She focuses on the web of tracer fire enveloping her. A shockwave rocks her, nearly stops her heart. Or maybe it does.

Three Vipers flash by, so close she can almost touch them.

Then there is light, everywhere, shaking and blinding.

When she opens her eyes again, she is on the floor of a raptor.

Crashdown is popping her helmet.

"Kara?" Boomer's voice sounds very far away.

"Sharon?"

She opens her eyes again, and now she's staring at the bars of fluorescent lights on the ceiling of the hangar deck. She blinks. She hears voices and feels familiar fingers in her hair. The hand is shaking.

There is a penlight, then bright and bright in her eyes, and she smacks the thing away. "I'm fine."

She starts to sit up, but Lee's shaking hands hold her down.

She has to look away. "I just got the wind knocked out of me. That's all. Let me up."

He makes her look at him. His eyes are rimmed in red, but relief is melting his face. His hand is hot on her cheek. "What's today's date?"

"Oh, like you frakking know."

She hears laughter all around her. She is alive.

* * *

#212

Laundry day was the day it all hit, and in one corridor they have these huge carts filled with stacks and stacks of unused, fluffy, gunmetal-blue towels. There are plenty of uniforms and more than enough clean fleet issue tanks and briefs. It's a luxury, as long as you don't pay attention to the names in the waistbands.

Between being blown out of her Viper, spinning in space, and nearly getting vaporized, Kara needs a shower. She is chafed, itchy and sticky with sweat. She has just finished rinsing the second lather from her skin when she hears his voice outside the shower stall. His silhouette is visible through the translucent door.

"I'm fine," she replies.

"Tell me if you feel lightheaded. I'm not going to let you crack your head open."

"I'm fine, Lee. I'm great. Nothing like a little freefall to wake your ass up."

"I saw your Viper explode." There is a tremor in his voice.

The water is so warm and enveloping and utterly good that she doesn't want to turn it off, but she can't hide in here all thirty-three minutes, so she does. "Towel?"

He opens the door a crack and passes it so quickly he must have already had it in his hand. He's gripping it tight. His knuckles are white, and his forearm is bare. Curiosity rushes down her body.

She takes his wrist, not the towel, and pulls him inside with her. Once she shuts door, they are face to face in the dim, damp stall. He's in a single black tank, with a towel wrapped around his waist at the appropriate level. She can still see the creases and smell the fresh detergent. His hair is wet. Finally she lets herself look into his face.

He's staring at her. For longer than she should, she lets him look, then she tucks the towel around herself. "I missed that. Did it look cool?"

Both his hands shoot up and hover in the air for a moment, on either side of her face. Then they clench into fists, and with a deep breath he stares up at the ceiling.

The one thing not spinning inside her is the knowledge of what comes next, so she waits until he looks at her.

"No, it did not look cool. It looked--"

She presses her hands to his stomach and feels it tense. "I'm playing with you."

He scowls, but now it's more annoyance and less fear. She'll take that in a heartbeat.

She allows her hands to travel up, over his chest, and she finds that Lee's heart is a steady, rapid drum against her palms. He stands up a little straighter and squares his shoulders. While it is difficult not take the time to see what happens when she pays attention to his nipples, she stays her course.

She reaches the edge of his shirt, and then her fingertips are tracing the dip above his collarbone. One hand travels out to his shoulder, the other she wraps around his vulnerable neck, tracing the muscles and tendons. She squeezes, carefully sinking her fingers into the soft places. His Adam's apple bobs against her palm.

He hasn't shaved in a while, and the underside of his jaw feels like sandpaper. She draws a line over his rough chin, then traces his lower lip, back and forth. When she tugs down, gently, she reveals the wet pink inside his mouth.

"I'm fine," she says.

He takes a step forward, and she has to back up until her shoulders hit the tile. Once again, he's in her face. They have been in each other's faces since he came aboard though, and she shouldn't have expected anything else.

He's not stopping her like he's supposed to. Instead, he's got hands braced on either side of her shoulders, and now his mouth is at her ear.

"Are you playing with me?" She notices for the first time how scratchy he sounds, as if he was screaming recently. There are skips and rough patches when he speaks. He's on the edge of losing his voice and it cracks when he says, "Are you playing a frakking game?"

She shakes her head and feels his stubbly cheek scrape along hers. His nose bumps hers, and he's nudging her head to the side, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

She feels his lips move, hot and wet on her skin. "Are you, Kara?"

Without answering, she tugs his shirt up. He pauses, and she is afraid she has made a mistake. Then he strips it, and as she watches, he licks his lips. Her mouth is suddenly wet.

Without warning, he's leaning in, pressing her body against the wall. She feels his thigh slide between her legs, and she presses against the solid muscle.

He is taking deep breaths, and she can hear him thunk his forehead against the tile.

Squeezing his thigh between hers she says, "I'm good. I'm going to be okay."

"Don't do that to me, Kara," he whispers. "Please don't do that to me again."

She slides her free leg up the side of his, and rubs her cheek on his bristly jaw line. The warm, rough skin scratches an itch she didn't know she had, so she does it again, just nuzzling her cheek over his, against his chin, down his neck.

She likes the feel of straightforward planes of skin. Not like other body parts that do nothing but complicate things. Not like mouths or fingers or hands that won't stay off of him.

This is just his shoulder, underneath her chin, her hand on the small of his back. But this isn't simple. That's not what this is, and she knows it. They've always been complicated. Her body is more complicated when she's near him.

She says, "Lee," but she realizes that what she wants to say is, "please," so she does.

He catches her leg as it moves against him and strokes it, fingers almost painfully tight behind her knee. Then his hands cup her ass, and he's lifting her body into contact with his. She slips against the wet tile until she wraps her legs around his waist.

He presses his hips into hers and drives her back against the wall. She lets out a groan, and he does it again. Again, and now she's pawing at his back, mindlessly sliding as much of her skin against him as she can.

The towels are no match for the two of them, and soon Lee's trying to kick the sodden pile out of his way. He almost drops her, once, and she laughs, loudly, scrambling to stay on. She grabs the shower nozzle for support, but then he's doing this thing to her neck with his tongue and his teeth that makes her go limp. She just leans into him over and over and tries to ignore the silly noises she keeps making. She trusts him to hold her.

She tries to feel guilty for the scratches she's dragging across his shoulders and down his back. She decides that she has enough to feel guilty about and does it again, hard. It'll make her laugh, later, when she'll probably need it.

Kara is maybe half way into painting a hickey onto the side of his neck with her mouth when he sets her on her feet. He slides his hand around the back of her neck, then takes gentle but firm hold on her hair.

He looks her in the eye and starts to say something, then stops. He does it again. She watches the inside of his mouth one more time before she takes pity on him and leans in.

After a brief prayer, she presses her lips to his and hears a soft, "Oh."

They kiss just the way she feared they might.

"You're going to kill me," he says after a while, coming up for air.

"You can take it." She pulls his mouth back to hers.

And of course, somehow, in a matter of seconds they are rubbing indiscriminately against each other, her chest slick against his. Now that she has let herself start, she can't stop touching him. She can't stop touching his face, tracing it, staring at it. She can't stop enjoying his arms against her palms and she certainly has no intention of leaving his ass alone any time soon.

He grinds against her, making such an undignified noise that she has to bite down on his shoulder to keep from laughing.

He stops and stares at her mouth, panting a little. His eyes are frighteningly intense. Finally, he blinks and takes a step back.

"We are frakking ridiculous," he says. He cups her breast and brushes his thumb back and forth over her nipple. "You're ridiculous, you know."

"I'm ridiculous?" She wraps her fingers around his shaft. "Really."

"Insane," he says, voice remarkably even, even as she squeezes.

"Oh yeah?"

Suddenly, she's being lifted up against the wall, and she welcomes him back with open legs. Her body wraps around him, and he is dangerously hard. He is dangerously close and she is slick. Then they are slick, and the right angle and push and he's going to be inside of her. As it is, he just keeps sliding against her in excruciatingly good ways. Much more of this and she's going to make a fool of herself.

He smiles at her. "Yeah. You're crazy."

"You think so?" They keep shifting their weight, pulling each other into tighter contact, just missing it. She's not sure whether she's avoiding it or seeking it, but she finds a good angle and just works it hard. He rewards her with a vicious thrust against the tile, and then they're back in a rhythm. She doesn't care how close they are. She wants to be closer.

He thrusts against her, and this time, there's no mistaking what he's going for. No mistaking the way she squirms and guides, and then there he is.

There he is, inside of her. She is going to say something, but then he starts to move. It doesn't take long. He doesn't last two minutes, but the whole time, she can't believe the gentle, stupid nonsense she hears herself whispering into his ear.

The whole time, he's kissing her, or staring with a possessiveness that she recognizes now. As he gets close, she holds on. She cradles his skull and tries not squeak as he finishes with a series of deep, hard thrusts.

He's whispering urgently, but she only makes out her name and "wanted" and "yes." She hears a lot of yes from him and has to eat the noises coming from inside of his mouth. He is much more vocal when he comes than she would have expected. Just as beautiful, though.

She presses her lips to his neck and tastes his pulse, tastes him pounding against her tongue. Feels his chest rise and fall as his breathing starts to slow. She could cling to him, right here, just like this, forever and probably be satisfied. As it stands now, she has no desire to do anything other than wrap around him and feel him relax and soften, inside her arms, inside of her.

Finally, he releases her, kissing her as she slides down his body.

"Well," she says, grabbing a shirt from the floor and mopping up.

"Well," he says, sounding dazed.

"Didn't see that coming."

That makes him laugh, and he squeezes her to him so tight it hurts. He breathes into her hair, and his thumb touches the back of her neck.

She decides that maybe she could get used to this.

"Pass the word." Gaeta's voice rings out over the loudspeaker. "Pass the word. Captain Adama to the CIC, immediately. "

Lee wraps a towel around his hips then takes his shirt from her. Then he stops.

"You filthy—you are going to get it. I am going to--."

She kisses him to shut him up, a remarkably effective technique, and one that she plans to use as often as possible. That gets them dangerously close to at least trying for a repeat performance, but they hear Lt. Gaeta's voice again. After one last wet kiss Apollo runs his fingers through his hair and steps out, closing the door behind himself.

She is going to catch a whole lot of shit for those scratches. Not as much as Mr. Let's-Read-Section-208 going to catch, though. She covers her face and slides down the wall to sit on the wet floor. Of course she can smell him on her. She inhales and thanks the Gods for the chance to smell him on her.

Kara counts to thirty-three before leaving to be safe, because she is all about the irony.

At twenty-five, Sharon opens the door and just stares at her, eyebrows raised. Kara can only shrug. Sharon grins and closes the door.

Kara hasn't stopped smiling since he left.

* * *

#213

They manage not to lose anyone this time. Cylon raiders haven't yet figured out their latest tactical permutation. Cylon raiders are dumb. There are, unfortunately, a lot of them and, eventually they learn.

He flies next to her as they return to Galactica. Before their final approach, she sees him in his cockpit. He gives her a waggle and just about the goofiest grin she's ever seen.

He's out of his Viper before she is, and when she jumps down from the cockpit he's ready to catch her.

When they used to swim together in the sea, he would toss her into the air. Sometimes, she'd just splash back into the water. Sometimes, he'd fling her head first into a swelling wave. Sometimes, he would catch her like this, gripping her hips, stopping her before she slammed into him, easing her body down to his.

"You can let go now," she whispers.

The few mechanics clustered around the coffee cart don't even glance their way as they head out into the corridor.

They can't stop smiling at each other, and she knows they look like fools. She's not sure he even knows where he's going, so she nods at a munitions locker hatch and locks it once they're inside.

She has to grab his face and kiss him right then and there, kiss him back into the fence till it rattles, then kiss him some more. He's fumbling at her suit and she's pretty sure she breaks something on his, then they're standing in their underwear and she feels unaccountably shy.

He covers his mouth and shakes his head, looking her up and down. She is afraid she might cry, so she pulls him to sit on the floor then settles onto his lap. She has all the time in the world to explore his mouth.

In between the kisses, Lee is beaming up at her, searching her face, and whatever he sees makes his smile grow even wider. She is gone, completely, and the knowledge that she can never let him die fills her.


End file.
